


Past, Present, Future

by engine



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: First Time, Getting Together, M/M, Near-Future Fic, one-sided gokudera/tsuna
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-29
Updated: 2007-10-29
Packaged: 2019-09-28 21:07:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17190419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/engine/pseuds/engine
Summary: Gokudera finds he has to reevaluate who it is, exactly, his affections are for.





	Past, Present, Future

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on LJ.

_01 — past_

He hadn’t heard the idiot walk up behind him (not because he wasn’t paying attention, of course; simply because he had been… too absorbed in thought! Yeah that was it) and it wasn’t until a friendly arm dropped onto his head that he even realized Yamamoto was there. It was times like this – when Yamamoto used him as a personal armrest, that is – that Gokudera really, _really_ cursed his height. He didn’t always mind being on the shorter side; it was when his personal space was invaded that he really started to care.

“Get the fuck away,” he growled, nudging Yamamoto’s arm off his head before shoving his hands deep in his pockets. He wasn’t in the mood for this today.

Yamamoto just laughed and dropped his arm around Gokudera’s shoulders instead. “Hey, hey, no need to be so harsh, we’re friends right?” Gokudera sighed: same old conversation. Some things just didn’t change.

“I never said that. Bastard.” But he didn’t shove off Yamamoto’s arm. Yamamoto smiled (because that obviously meant, in Gokudera speak, “Of course! Tag along as much as you want,” exclamation point included) and kept his arm amiably draped over Gokudera’s shoulders.

It was sunny out; something Yamamoto seemed to enjoy immensely, whereas Gokudera appeared to want to find a nice dark corner to hide in. He had been walking back to his home, planning to do just that. If Yamamoto hadn’t snuck up on him, he might’ve been able to.

He figured today was just going to get worse and worse.

The reason for this thinking was the fact that Yamamoto wasn’t letting go of his shoulders and Gokudera hadn’t changed his course. Unless he was hallucinating, they were going to end up at his house. Soon. (And he wasn’t hallucinating.)

“You’re _not_ coming to my house.” Gokudera stopped walking when he realized where they were headed, sending his best death glare in Yamamoto’s direction. After a moment, Yamamoto just smiled – a lazy, soft smile – before tightening his grip on Gokudera’s shoulders and spinning them in a different direction.

“We can go to my house then,” he said, smile still on his face. Gokudera would’ve normally taken this moment to demand to be let go but, truthfully, he wasn’t feeling up for a fight. After what happened—

Shaking his head, he let Yamamoto steer him in the direction of Takesushi. Which, Gokudera found out as he was pushed into the store, was a lot closer to his house than he remembered it being. He blinked dumbly, looking around the sushi shop, before Yamamoto ordered him to go back to where his bedroom was while he got some snacks (or got his dad to make them some). 

Gokudera nodded, toed off his shoes when he reached the back of the shop, leaving them in haphazardly on top of a pair of beat up sneakers (which he assumed were Yamamoto’s, considering the style and condition; no reason to fix them, in that case) before running up the stairs to where the house was.

He’d never actually _been_ up there; he’d seen Yamamoto run up the stair to grab things before, when they’d all had sushi at the restaurant after training, or some scheme Reborn thought up, but there had never been a reason for Gokudera to actually be in Yamamoto’s room. They’d never actually hung out outside of the family stuff, so…

After poking his head about the apartment a bit, he went into the room that was obviously Yamamoto’s (the baseball posters? Yeah, those were a dead give away) and flopped down onto the bed with a loud, long sigh.

Well. This was awkward.

He sat up, bounced on the mattress for a second, before standing and making his way towards the bookshelf. Papers and novels and what appeared to be various athlete biographies ( _Of course_ , he thought with a snort) had all been crammed into the shelf, and Gokudera honestly doubted he could get anything out of there without it collapsing. On top of the shelf were various trophies (way too many MVP awards, if Gokudera may say so himself) and action figures that appeared to not have been touched in years and, of course, various photos of friends and family over the years.

“Hey.”

Gokudera whirled around, scratching at the back of his head. Yamamoto smiled, putting the plate of sushi (oh, was that eel?) onto his desk before ambling over to where Gokudera was standing. Gokudera let his hand rest on his neck, not looking at Yamamoto, who stretched his arms above his head. He didn’t push conversation, and Gokudera was glad for that; not because he wouldn’t talk (he had to be a polite guest, after all) but because he just didn’t _feel_ like talking.

After a few moments of somewhat awkward silence, Gokudera moved away and grabbed the plate of sushi off the desk, plopping himself down on Yamamoto’s bed and shoving a roll into his mouth. He had his back to Yamamoto, but he felt the other boy sit on the opposite side of the bed, facing away from him as well.

“You,” Yamamoto started, finally breaking the silence, “ _like_ like Tsuna, right?”

Gokudera felt the sushi lodge in his throat very uncomfortably and he coughed. The question had, undoubtedly, surprised him. Swallowing hard, he forced the food down before glaring at the floor, refusing to look at Yamamoto.

“Where’d you get that idea, dumbass?”

Yamamoto didn’t reply at first. Gokudera wondered what he was thinking; why he had brought it up in the first place.

“Well, I mean,” Yamamoto paused again, as if looking for the right words. “It’s kind of obvious. And today…” He trailed off. Gokudera couldn’t see him, but he imagined that he was shaking his head. “Today when Tsuna and Kyoko… You just looked so sad. I mean, I don’t think Tsuna noticed but it was, you know, kind of—”

“Obvious, I get it.”

Gokudera heard the shift in Yamamoto’s position and knew that he was looking at him, as if surprised he had said anything. Actually, he probably _was_ surprised he had said anything. Gokudera wasn’t one to lay his emotions on that line, but instead had a tendency to deny them; he _knew_ this, and he knew that Yamamoto was probably shocked.

“I do. Like the 10th, I mean. Or I did. I don’t know anymore.”

 

_02 — present_

Yamamoto didn’t move; he barely breathed. Had he really just…?

He felt something in his chest, something he would bet his life on felt exactly like a sword driving through his ribs. Gokudera was still looking at the floor and Yamamoto wished, for an instant, that he could read his mind. He wanted to know how Gokudera thought, how he _really_ thought. It was easy enough to read him; Gokudera wore his emotions on his sleeve, even if he thought he was hiding them. But his thoughts were a mystery.

Nothing Gokudera did made sense to him. Yamamoto just didn’t understand.

“You… do?”

He watched Gokudera shift positions, breathe in heavily and exhale slowly. “I don’t know, okay? I thought… I was never sure, you know? It was weird. I know, I’m a freak, right?”

“I never—”

“It’s not like I don’t know that. Is it weird, liking your best friend? I always respected him, yeah, but somewhere along the line I think it changed. Or something.”

“I don’t think it’s weird.”

Gokudera’s head shot up and he looked at him. Yamamoto could see the surprise in his eyes, on his face; for once, he could almost read his mind.

“And it’s not like you really know, right? And even if you did, Tsuna’s with Kyoko. So you can always like… move on or something.” Yamamoto almost winced; his voice sounded fake. But Gokudera didn’t say anything, just looked away again and shrugged. After another moment of silence, Yamamoto sighed.

“Hey.” He pulled his legs up onto the bed and moved over to sit next to Gokudera, who seemed even smaller than normal. Yamamoto had never really noticed the height difference before, truthfully; but now, with Gokudera sitting next to him, slouched over, hands clenched into knuckle-whitening fists, it was all too obvious. He blinked, surprised for a moment, before pushing away the thought and dropping a hand on top of his friend’s head. “Stop glaring at my carpet. It didn’t do anything to you.”

Gokudera’s face softened a bit, just a bit, but Yamamoto was used to catching the nuances of his expressions. “Don’t think on it too hard. It’ll make things worse.”

He ruffled Gokudera’s hair once, before his hand was swatted away and the hair fixed. Yamamoto chuckled; Gokudera glared.

“Yeah, yeah. I… don’t know. It’s weird telling _you_ , of all people, this but…” He trailed off, gaze drifting up to the ceiling. Yamamoto watched his face, relaxed and not scowling, for once. “But, I dunno. I don’t think it hurt as much as it would’ve in the past. It was more like a… a dull ache, you know?”

Yamamoto nodded, but he only half heard the words Gokudera was saying. He had found himself distracted quite easily by the color of Gokudera’s eyes. A color that, Yamamoto decided, was quickly becoming his favorite.

Gokudera looked away from the ceiling at down at his hands. “God I feel like such a girl right now.”

This made Yamamoto laugh a bit, and he ruffled his friend’s hair for a second time. Gokudera glared at him, before standing up from the bed. “Hey, who’re all those people in your photos? I only recognize your dad and you, obviously.”

Yamamoto blinked, surprised; but he knew a subject change when he saw one. Shrugging, he stood up, before bending down by his bed. “Here, I’ve got more pictures in this album… geez, where’d I shove it…?” After rifling under his bed for a moment, he pulled out a dusty photo album. Dropping to his knees on the floor he brushed the cover off, and opened the book.

Gokudera blinked, before sitting down across from Yamamoto; he had made sure the album was facing in that direction, so Gokudera could see the pictures.

“That,” he said, pointing at one of the first pictures, “is my mom and dad. Back when they were younger, you know?” Gokudera frowned a bit, but didn’t saying anything. Yamamoto sighed softly, before turning the page. “She’s probably the woman you saw in the photos up there, right? And that’s my dad, back when he wasn’t _old_. We didn’t live here, then, at Takesushi, I mean. We lived in this house… I don’t really remember it, honestly.” He laughed a little bit. “But my dad says it was really pretty and stuff. We had a garden and everything.”

Gokudera ghosted his fingers over the photographs, eyes scanning the captured moments in time. Yamamoto wondered what he was thinking – at that point, it could’ve been anything.

“What happened to her? I don’t think I’ve ever seen her around,” Gokudera said after a moment. Yamamoto froze at the question; he should have known it was coming, but he still wasn’t expecting it. “Er – I mean, it’s fine, you don’t have to tell me!” he said suddenly, eyebrows pulled together. Yamamoto forced himself to smile and shook his head, but Gokudera was insistent. “No, seriously, Yamamoto, it’s cool.”

Shifting his attention back to the album, he pointed to a picture. “So who’s that kid?” Gokudera pointed to a picture of a baby, who was in the middle of shoving a flower into his mouth. “Doesn’t seem too bright.”

Yamamoto couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Who do you think? That’s me. I was probably, what, a year or so, then?”

A pause.

“That’s _you_? Geez, Yamamoto, what happened, you used to be cute!” he said with a laugh, looking at the other pictures. Yamamoto watched him, watched the way his hands – hands that should’ve been completely destroyed from all the dynamite, but were instead thin and small and delicate, if you didn’t know he could pack a punch – move over the pictures. He watched Gokudera’s eyelashes – pale, just barely reflecting the light – as they dusted against his cheek when he looked down. He watched the way some of Gokudera’s hair fell into his eyes, the way he reached up to tuck it behind his ear absently.

Reaching out quickly, he grabbed at Gokudera’s wrist, causing him to look up. He didn’t look mad, or surprised, simply slightly confused and maybe the smallest bit annoyed. Yamamoto was close enough to see the bits of gold in his eyes. He didn’t really want to move.

“Can I—?” he started, cutting himself off. He knew his voice was softer than normal, and the expression on his face was probably confusing Gokudera even more. “Just once?”

Gokudera’s eyebrows pulled together, questioning. “What do you—?” He stopped short, eyes widening. He swallowed heavily, and didn’t say anything else. Yamamoto was frozen, waiting, and when Gokudera didn’t voice any outright complaints—

The space between them closed as Yamamoto moved forward, lightly pressing his lips against Gokudera’s. It was soft – barely a kiss – and questioning. He loosened his grip on Gokudera’s wrist, but held on. His eyes were still open, and so were Gokudera’s, and he _knew_ this wasn’t how a kiss was supposed to be, so he pressed a little harder, a little more urgently, and when he saw Gokudera’s eyes closed, his own closed as well.

 

_03 — future_

To say he’d expected it was a lie. To say he didn’t like it, well, that would be a lie too.

Closing his eyes, Gokudera tilted his head to the side, pressing back into the kiss. His stomach did something funny, and his lips tingled and he knew that had this been any other time he would have—

Well, maybe not. Maybe he wouldn’t have pushed Yamamoto away. Who was he kidding? Besides, it’s not like anyone could read his mind. He _liked_ it. He liked it, damnit, even if it _was_ weird, since he was supposed to hate the guy but. But.

There was something about his laugh, his touch, his dorky grin that made Gokudera’s toes curl – in the good way. He felt his face flush, and he reached up a hand to rest on the back of Yamamoto’s neck, skin hot under his touch. He felt Yamamoto shudder slightly, which only made his face flush more (did _he_ do that?), before he felt a hand against his cheek, thumb rubbing softly against his skin.

Okay so. Maybe it was time to reevaluate his feelings.

Pulling away uncertainly, Gokudera cleared his throat, the sound harsh in the previously silent room. He dropped his hand from Yamamoto’s neck and stood up, wrist lingering in Yamamoto’s grasp for a moment longer than protocol demanded.

“Um. I uh,” he stuttered, rubbing the back of his neck. Yamamoto furrowed his eyebrows, closing the album and shoving it back under his bed. Gokudera wondered what he was thinking (rejection? Because it certainly wasn’t rejection) as he stood up. They stood in awkward silence for a moment before Gokudera cleared his throat again.

“Well, I should, um. Probably… go.”

“Wait, uh, Gokudera, I didn’t mean—”

“No, hey, no it’s not your fault, I just—”

“Wait—!”

Gokudera stopped when he felt Yamamoto’s hand grabbing his wrist again; only it was harder this time, the kind of grip expected of a baseball player and swordsman. “Wait,” he repeated, but Gokudera didn’t turn around to look at him. He didn’t, however, try and break away from Yamamoto’s hold.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I just—I couldn’t—I mean…” He trailed off, and Gokudera frowned at the floor, waiting for him to continue. Yamamoto always continued.

“I know that you like— _liked_ —Tsuna, whatever, and… I know you have for a while but I… You don’t _understand_ , Gokudera. You’re like… like the biggest mystery _ever_. You appear out of nowhere, and you—you look like someone out of a foreign film or something! And then you’ve got this personality that I don’t even get—and not to mention—” He stopped himself there and when Gokudera turned his head just enough to see Yamamoto out of the corner of his eye, the baseball player had his gaze fixed on the floor and his brows furrowed.

“There’s just a lot I like about you, okay? And you looked—you seemed really upset and I couldn’t just let you go home alone, you know? It wasn’t my intention for… for all this to happen. Whatever this is. And—”

Gokudera turned around abruptly, using his free hand to grab Yamamoto’s neck and pull him down quickly, cutting off his words by pressing his lips to the other boy’s. After a moment he pulled back, eyes still closed. “Shut up. You talk to much when you’re nervous.” He opened his eyes, smirking a bit at Yamamoto’s confused expression. “And wipe that look off your face, you look stupid.”

He pulled Yamamoto back in for another kiss, which, now that he was aware of the situation, Yamamoto returned whole-heartedly. Dropping Gokudera’s wrist Yamamoto wrapped his arms around him, pulling him closer. Smiling a bit into the kiss, Gokudera dropped his hands to Yamamoto’s chest, pushing him back until the other boy felt his knees hit the bed and he fell back onto it, pulling Gokudera down with him.

Gokudera was all too willing to comply. Straddling Yamamoto, he ran his hands up to his shoulders, gasping into the kiss when he felt Yamamoto slip his hands under his shirt, hands on his hips, fingers skimming along his lower back.

Taking advantage of the gasp, Yamamoto deepened the kiss tentatively; Gokudera responded just as tentatively at first, but within moments both had given up caring. It felt good – what else really mattered, right?

Gokudera pulled back, moving off of Yamamoto and sitting back on the bed so that they could both fit easily, and Yamamoto followed, moving between his legs before leaning down to kiss him again. Gokudera whimpered into the kiss as he felt one hand trail up his ribs, the other moving down his leg (the school slacks did very little to hinder the sensation, he noted) before coming to a stop just below his knee.

Well, Yamamoto thought, that was certainly a sound he wouldn’t mind hearing again.

His hand ghosted up the side of Gokudera’s chest, thumb brushing against his nipple, just enough to elicit a reaction. Gokudera broke away from the kiss, tilting his head back and letting out a soft sound, and Yamamoto nipped at the bare skin just below his jaw, trailing kisses and nips down his neck. Gokudera let out a soft whine, hands gripping tightly at Yamamoto’s shoulders.

He wasn’t quite sure where this was headed; he didn’t really care.

Somehow the sweater of his uniform had come off, and his shirt was unbuttoned and his socks and pants were gone too, and Yamamoto was in a similar state of undress, only he still had his pants but was missing his shirt. Gokudera wasn’t quite sure how it had gotten to that point (other than the constant feeling of _needing_ to see more, touch more skin) and for a moment he was just the slightest bit afraid.

But then there was Yamamoto, kissing the corner of his mouth lightly, hands running slowly down the inside of his thighs, half-closed eyes locked onto his own, as if he was saying _trust me_ , but Gokudera was quite positive neither of them had made any sounds other than various ones of pleasure and approval, with the occasional name. Gokudera turned his head, nudging Yamamoto’s cheek with his nose, closing his eyes before brushing his lips slightly against Yamamoto’s. _I trust you_.

Yamamoto pressed a kiss to his lips before the weight of him was gone and Gokudera was left alone on the bed, lacking pants, and with a rather straining erection, if he may say so. But the sight of Yamamoto kicking off his pants (he snickered when he almost tripped) and rummaging around in his drawers, butt-naked, was definitely not something he would complain about.

Especially because Yamamoto was suddenly back on top of him, and skin was touching skin in _all_ the right places. He buried his face in Yamamoto’s shoulder, trying not to yell too loudly, and he heard Yamamoto let out a soft, very Yamamoto-ish moan. Which, Gokudera thought, was a great sound.

And as much as he normally hated giving himself over, well, he didn’t really mind Yamamoto taking charge. He grabbed at his neck and shoulder, fingernails digging into skin once his legs were spread and a cold, wet finger was pressing gently at a place he had, quite honestly, never expected _anyone_ to be touching. He let out a whimper as Yamamoto pushed in gently (god he hated it, he sounded to weak, so _pathetic_ , it wasn’t as though he’d never felt pain before) and tried to ignore it. He barely heard Yamamoto’s whispers, and then his hand had dropped from his leg and wrapped around him and _stroked_ , and Gokudera couldn’t really think of anything after that.

Crying out (although he’d deny it if it was brought up), he dug his fingernails harder into Yamamoto’s skin, dropping his head back onto the bed – oh was that a pillow? – they were on. He didn’t notice when Yamamoto had put another finger in, stretched, then another, hooked his fingers, and – _that_ was when he noticed. His entire body tensed up and he definitely let out a sound he would be embarrassed over later. When he looked up at Yamamoto, he was smirking a bit, before he leaned down and nibbled at Gokudera’s neck, the same spot as before (it was going to leave a mark, Gokudera managed to note in between waves of pleasure).

But then everything was _gone_ , and Gokudera whined a bit at the loss of feeling. He watched, his face in what he was sure was a pout, as Yamamoto slipped on a condom (when’d he get that? Oh right, when he took off his pants) before he settled back on top of Gokudera again.

Yamamoto looked at him, questioning, but Gokudera simply pulled him down for a soft, slow kiss, one that was unlike him in every way but just the right encouragement Yamamoto needed. He pushed in slowly, letting out a heavy sigh of pleasure; Gokudera covered his own face with a hand, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling, because in a moment—in a moment…

And then Yamamoto moved, and Gokudera moved too, and something within him exploded, Gokudera was sure of it, because it all felt so amazing and he knew it was going to be over way too soon it shouldn’t have to end it felt too good too good too _much_ —

Gokudera came first, with a bit of a yell and a gasp, shuddering as Yamamoto rode out his orgasm until he came too, falling on top of him. Gokudera couldn’t bring himself to mind, and almost cared more when Yamamoto rolled off of him. After both managed to regain a bit of a thought process, Yamamoto disposed quickly of the condom (in his bedroom trashcan and not down the toilet, as he remembered that Sex Ed class from a couple years back reminded them) and Gokudera cleaned himself off with the shirt he had somehow managed to keep on the entire time. It was ruined anyway; he was certain a couple buttons had fallen off.

Crawling under the covers, Gokudera pulled his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs. Yamamoto stumbled back in, legs still in a somewhat gelatinous state, collapsing on the bed next to Gokudera.

“So,” he said, after a moment. Gokudera looked down at him, blinking.

“So?”

A pause.

“Does this mean I get to call you Hayato now?”


End file.
